The Wastelands are a scorched and broken expanse in the southern region of Kovari Island, ravaged by radiation, conflict, and environmental collapse. Stretching endlessly across charred earth and rusted metal plains, it is a place defined by decay, corruption, and hostile beauty. The land itself seems bent on repelling intruders, as if the very air resents those who breathe it. This desolate terrain is avoided by all but the most desperate or insane, who enter knowing that survival here is measured not in days, but in hours.

The Wastelands are a harsh reminder of civilization’s failures. Radioactive fissures split the ground in some areas, leaking sickly green light that casts everything in a toxic glow. Metallic deserts shimmer beneath the heat, while glassified sand stretches across charred craters and scorched fields. Every sense is assaulted—acrid air that tastes like iron, flickering skies, and winds carrying sounds that rarely seem natural.

The landscape of the Wastelands is divided into several dangerous, unstable regions, each marked by its own unique brand of hostility.

The Rusted Expanse is a desert of metal and ash, littered with the remains of ancient machines and twisted steel. Towers and skeletal structures rise from the earth like jagged teeth, their hollow insides echoing with the howls of wind and madness. In places, the ground pulses with a dim, sickly light, suggesting something alive—or at least aware—beneath the surface.

The Ashspire Fields are marked by blackened, brittle terrain. At the center stands a massive obsidian monolith, its surface unnaturally smooth and cold. Some claim it emits a low hum that can drive listeners to madness or reveal forbidden truths. Around the monolith, the land itself feels distorted, as if space and time have been subtly twisted.

The Shatterzones defy natural law. Fractured gravity leaves chunks of earth and stone floating aimlessly, and sudden drops or rises in elevation can kill the unwary. Rumors of “sky-ghosts” drifting between the shattered terrain are common, though no one has confirmed their existence.

The Bone Markets are the closest thing to a settlement within the Wastelands. This shifting, chaotic space attracts scavengers, merchants, and mutated traders desperate enough to risk barter among the ruins. No rules govern these exchanges, only the unspoken understanding that violence could erupt at any moment. Here, bones are currency as much as metal or food, and each transaction feels like a gamble against fate.

Despite the madness of the Wastelands, The Guardians maintain absolute control over the region. They walk the poisoned land with impunity, unaffected by radiation, toxins, or the hostile environment. Their authority is unquestioned; they act as judge, jury, and executioner with the same precision and efficiency as they do elsewhere on Kovari.

The residents of the Wastelands do not resist the Guardians. Some worship them as divine enforcers, while others flee or hide whenever the black-clad figures appear. There is no attempt to civilize or rehabilitate the region’s inhabitants. The Guardians’ sole purpose here is to maintain order and prevent the horrors of the Wastelands from spilling into the rest of the island. Their presence is a cold, unyielding constant—a reminder that no matter how wild the land becomes, it is never truly free.

The Wastelands are synonymous with death and madness. To most of Kovari Island, it is a cursed place best forgotten. The tales of twisted monsters, mutated drifters, and eerie landscapes keep even the bravest away. Few who enter return, and those who do often come back broken or altered in some unspeakable way.

Only the desperate venture into the Wastelands: exiles, scavengers hunting for relics, researchers escorted by Guardians, and those driven mad enough to seek power from its poisoned earth. Even the most seasoned explorers speak of the Wastelands with trembling voices, their courage spent and their minds haunted by what they encountered.

The residents of the Wastelands are a twisted blend of what were once the Rustborne Clans and Techgrave Prophets, their identities shattered by the region’s brutality. Warped by radiation and centuries of isolation, they exist without structure, leadership, or stability. They are not feral beasts, but rather people whose grasp on civility has been stripped away by the cruelty of their environment. They speak normally but their social skills are fractured and primitive, driven more by instinct than reason.

These survivors are heavily mutated—skin twisted into unnatural patterns, eyes glowing faintly from exposure, limbs reshaped by radiation’s touch. Each individual bears unique signs of the Wastelands’ corruption, some with skeletal deformities, others with translucent flesh or mismatched, elongated features. Though some mutations grant useful abilities, most only serve to mark them as wretched and alien to the rest of Kovari.

Life here is brutal and lonely. Bonds form out of necessity but dissolve just as quickly when resources run dry or danger looms. No tribe or clan endures for long; there is only the transient camaraderie of scavengers and drifters who share the same poisoned air. They are feared and pitied by outsiders, seen as monsters or broken things left to fester in the island’s darkest corner.

Bonds form and dissolve based solely on survival needs, with no concept of loyalty or stability. They are an unsettling reflection of what humanity can become when stripped of all comforts and structure—violent, primal, and driven by instinct alone. Their appearances are often grotesque and unsettling, featuring twisted limbs, warped skin, glowing eyes, and skeletal deformities. While their mutations sometimes grant them unusual abilities, they are always rooted in pain and corruption rather than progress.